


Tears to the Ocean

by Bokuaka_Iwaoi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Swimming, Angst, Bad Ending, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Karaoke, Kid Fic, Kindaichi must be protected, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Pinning, This took too long to write, angst with a semi-happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 17:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10366206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bokuaka_Iwaoi/pseuds/Bokuaka_Iwaoi
Summary: On Hajime’s sixth birthday, he gets two presents from Tooru.The first one is a new pair of goggles that looks expensive; he doesn’t know how much they costed the Oikawa household and he didn’t want to know either.The second thing is a promise."Iwa-chan, we are going to become Olympic swimmers!"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so...
> 
> This is the longest thing I have ever written, and the quality of the writing goes down somewhere around the halfway point because i have no patience and I'm too lazy to fix it, here is the Iwaoi swimming Kidfic you never needed

First of all, your hand doesn't _effortlessly cut_ through the water. Your fingers break the surface, your wrist, forearm and elbow gradually following, but right after the water completely covers your arm, you have to push your way through the liquid, fight for every centimeter that your arm moves. You have to have your shoulder bend, your body twist, your legs kick for their lives. Then, from your waist on, you have to once again fight for every centimeter as your triceps push your arm out of the water, flicking crystalline droplets of water behind you and into the lane you swim in. They, in turn ripple across the surface of the water, and the cycle is repeated, over and over, and over again. 

In seconds, you have to be able to swim yards and yards down the lane and scrunch your body into the tiniest ball you can make, somersaulting three-quarters of the way around before you unfurl your legs, hitting the wall at a ninety degree angle with your legs crossed. And you push off the wall with as much force as you can manage out of your lower half, twisting with the help of your already crossed legs, watching as the ‘T’ disappears beneath you. Your arms must come up behind you head in a perfect streamline when you do, your head pressing back enough so that you ears are crushed, your cap wrinkling slightly from your arms pushing into your head. Your body has to contort back and forth, your chest to your toes bending like a dolphin, rapidly cranking out your four to five underwater kicks before you break the surface with a perfectly timed breakout stroke. You have to hold your breath until your lungs are about to burst, waiting those three strokes before finally twisting your neck just enough so that one of your eyes can see above the surface of the water before sucking in that lungful of air to fuel your body just enough to make it five more strokes before you have to puff the carbon dioxide again and inhale. 

And when you finish, you have to twist your body to the side, watch as the world once in motion around you come to a stop, your vision blurring slightly as reality finally catches up to you.

And this is only freestyle, the easiest of the four strokes. 

Tooru doesn’t realize this, the first time he sees an Aaron Peirsol, Markus Rogan and Tomomi Morita reach back with a final kick, driving their fingertips into the wall the summer of his fifth birthday. He watches Rogan out-touch Tomomi by only one one-hundredth of a second, watches with wide eyes as Lenny Krayzelburg adds almost a second to his best time, the current world record. His eyes trace the numbers as they appear almost at once on the screen. He stares at the swimmers, some celebrating, others in despair, yet only one thought comes to mind.

I want to be there one day, the whole world watching as I lunge backwards into the wall.  
I want-I really, really want to swim. 

Tooru, naturally, drags along his best friend, Iwaizumi Hajime, into his new obsession. Their parents keep waiting for Oikawa to find a new sport or something to invest all of their time in because frankly, what if their babies _drown_ but that day, that day where Oikawa threw down his towel after practice (quite literally) never came. Instead, the two sets of parents watched as their children’s love for the sport only deepened over the hours at a time the boys spent at the pool.

They had to have their lessons from a local coach who didn’t know much in the way of coaching, only able to teach them the basics before recommending then to a team. 

Standing there, in front of the small team that was held in a run down club they rented from a school on weekdays, Tooru couldn’t be happier. Sure, the block tops were taped together with metallic grey tape, the tiles on the bottom of the pool littered with darker patches, but just being here, swimming, was enough for him. 

“I’m Oikawa Tooru, and I have been swimming for five months now! Nice to meet you!”

“Iwaizumi Hajime and I have also been swimming for five months.Pl-pleased to meet you!”

No one in the team really acknowledges them aside from the glare from the older kids sizing them up, and they eagerly put on excited expressions and wait for instructions, following the movements of their new teammates. Tooru stared at the still water, the smooth tranquility of the surface, watched as the tranquility was broken when one of the kids at the front of the lane he was assigned to by the coach dove in, staying under for a few seconds before breaking the surface with sloppy freestyle. His- what was his name again? Tooru wondered, staring at his freestyle-if you could even call it that. He decided he didn’t really care and read the words on the whiteboard in front of him, the source of what they were doing for that hour. 

100 fr @ 3:00  
4x25 IMO @ 1:00  
4x25 ↓H2O @ 1:15  
50 EZ

A HUNDRED LAPS OF FREESTYLE? What?! In three minutes? In three _hours?!_ What were the coaches trying to do to him? The most Tooru had ever swam up to that point was eight laps at once, and that had taken up all of his energy. 

He swallowed down his fear. If this is what people did on a team, then he could do it, no problem… right? 

“Just saying, when they say a hundred, they mean four laps. A lap is twenty-five yards, so one hundred yards is four laps.” One of the older kids says to them, smiling. Tooru stares at him. 

“I knew that!” He pouts back at the older boy, stuffing his translucent goggles over his eyes before turning back to the pool and jumping in with his hands in front of him like he saw the other kids do, one hand over the other. He stiffens slightly when the cold water envelops his body though, trying to wiggle his body like he saw the olympic swimmers do on television. When that fails, he breaks the surface of the water with his first strokes, arms clumsily dragging their way through the rippling pool. 

If you looked closely at the bottom of the pool, you could see the sunlight streaming in through the window on the bottom of the pool in rainbow-colored strings that danced across the tiles. If Tooru stared at what he thought was simply crystal clear water, he could see so many things he’d never before known could exist. 

Right beneath the surface of the water sunlight streams through and falls in rays to the bottom of the pool, casting the dancing streaks of light. The water itself wasn’t just water; it was hundreds of tiny air bubbles dragged by your fingers across your line of sight, it was dust follicles spiralling out of control almost moving by too fast for Tooru to see. This was only one of the amazing parts of swimming, just being here, in the water that covers most of the earth, one with the blue ink that covers the majority of maps of the world. 

It truly is amazing, Tooru realizes. 

If only swimming was as amazing. 

His arms start to burn after the first two laps, and he can’t go on anymore and has to stop, panting for breath. He sees the other kids sneering at him, already having finished their hundred free. He sees them, and he wishes he could just ignore them. 

_It’s not my fault._

The kids continue on to the 25s IM order (Individual medley; butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle) and Tooru has to ask the person in front of his what “IMO” is. The boy laughs and pushes off the wall, leaving him alone with his unanswered questions. 

_It’s not my fault that I’m dumb as fuck_

After the four painful twenty-fives where Tooru blindly followed whatever his peers were doing, unable to do much of anything else, he was introduced to a new hell: underwaters. 

Apparently, wiggling your body underwater had a name, a special technique, and its own importance to the sport. The coach yells at them to do the most underwaters they can before coming back up for air, something Tooru took as a challenge. The other kids laugh as he stops in the middle of the pool, gasping for air. He moved too little too slowly, he realized, and stared at his clenched fist with a renowned sense of hatred for the kids on his team. 

_It’s not my fault that I’m not a genius_

A hand placed itself on his shoulder. 

_Iwa-chan._

He realized what a spoiled brat he was being. Tooru wasn’t the only new kid here; and Iwa-chan didn’t come here because he wanted to. He came because Tooru dragged him into this. 

_I’m so sorry, Iwa-chan_

He was suddenly thankful for the plastic goggles that covered his eyes. This way, no one would see the big fat tears that flowed freely from his eyes as practice resumed. No one would hear his sniffles underwater. “I just got some water in my goggles, Iwa-chan!” was all he needed to say to his spiky haired friend, a false smile in place. 

He didn’t know at that point. He didn’t know that five-year old Hajime was glaring at him from the corner of his eye, trying to figure out what the brunette was thinking behind the cheery face he hid behind. 

_Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Aren’t I your best friend?_

 

When he got home, Tooru didn’t throw in the towel. 

He smiled sweetly to his mother, then climbed a flight of stairs to his room where he lied down and cried for half an hour. 

_It’s just a bad day, a bad practice_ , he told himself. _It’ll get better; I’ll get faster._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That bad day, bad practice turned into two bad days, two bad practices. 

 

 

 

That two bad days, two bad practices turned into a bad week, five bad practices. 

 

 

 

 

That week turned into two, three weeks, then a month. 

 

 

 

 

Tooru was about ready to give up. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Four times a week he would try to push his arm through the water as fast as he could to no avail, now at the back of the line behind even Hajime. Wouldn’t it just be easier, just to stop, to never have to twist his body back and forth through the lane, again and again, getting nowhere?

Wouldn’t it just be easier just to give up?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hajime finds him curled up, arms around his knees. He finds him crying, forehead pressed against his knees as big, fat, ugly tears drip onto the dirt. 

He’s in their special spot in the woods behind their backyards, a small clearing full of wildflowers and soft grasses. There’s a small creek running through the center of it. It would freeze in the winter, allowing them to slide over it, giggling as they fell down on their snow-pant covered bottoms. 

Hajime doesn’t say anything. He never does, in times like these when he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what Oikawa was crying about, so comfort would be useless here. But he knows enough about the small boy he spent all but a month of his life with to know to kneel down besides him and wrap his small arms as far as he can around the boy. He knows that when Oikawa touches his arm with a tentative finger he has stopped crying, but wants Hajime to say like this, stay close to him. And when he finally draws in a deep breath, Hajime knows that Oikawa is ready to talk. 

He gently unwraps his thin arms from the currently shorter boy, plopping down onto his knees. His hands, with nothing to do now, start plucking at the dandelions whose flowers have just started to bloom. 

“Iwa-chan, I don’t think I’m good at swimming.”

At any other time, Hajime would’ve headbutted and punched the stupid thought out of Tooru’s head. But now, as the boy is still fragile, still able to be broken, he just continues to weave the long stems of the dandelions he picked together. 

“It’s been a month and I haven’t gotten any better. I can’t hold my breath to go even half a lap underwater, and I’m just so slow.”

Other random flowers, white, blue, crimson are added to the jumble of blossoms and leaves in Hajime’s hands. 

“I should just give up.”

At this, Hajime can’t just sit still, gently placing the flower crown on the patch of dirt in front of him before tackling his best friend. 

“Hey! Iwa-chan!” Tooru squeals, his awkwardly short and stubby limbs flailing in the air as Hajime pins him down on the soft bed of grass behind him. “Let me up! Iwa-chan!”

“Are you stupid!?” Hajime snarls. Tooru stares at him for a second with wide eyes before shaking his head vigorously, arms and legs flopping onto the greenery. “Everyone sucks at first! If you look at people swimming in the olympics, they have to start somewhere, right? You can’t just jump in the pool for the very first time and be able to magically swim like it’s second nature! The other kids on the team, they had to start somewhere too!”

Tooru stares at the raven. There’s a little bit of snot dribbling from his nose, and his mouth is quivering; probably the most un-presentable he’s ever been in his life. 

Hajime stands up, brushing himself off before offering a hand to the brunette, which he takes after only a second’s hesitation, hauling himself to his feet and hastily wiping at his eyes with dirty sleeves. Hajime digs around in his pocket before coming up with a tissue pack, taking one out and handing it to Tooru who blows his nose loudly, crumples the wad of tissue up and stuffing it in his pocket. 

He picks his flower crown off the dirt before placing it on Tooru’s head, the golden brown locks pushed down to accommodate the flowers that Hajime picked. 

“Someday, you’ll be the grand king of swimming.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tooru passed all the kids in the lane the following month, Hajime right on his heels as they constantly competed for the first place spot in the lane. Most days it was given to Tooru, something that secretly pleased the both of them. 

Hajime was just happy to see Tooru happy, but that was something he would never admit, even to himself. 

The two of them got moved up to the next lane, full of kids at least a year older than them. They were, once again at the very back of the lane, but Tooru swam his hardest and steadily moved up the lane, touching one person’s feet at a time. 

Techniques for each stroke are added to their understanding of the sport, their bodies becoming more and more graceful as they moved through the water. 

 

 

 

 

“Iwa-chan, just watch me with my awesome breaststroke pullout!” Tooru boasts to Hajime one day when they learn to do breastroke pullouts in practice. 

“Oikawa-kun you’re doing it wrong!” The coach yells, demonstrating it with his arms.

Hajime did not laugh until he got a stomach cramp that day. Definitely not.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tooru stares at the door. His parents, or more accurately his mother thought since he got to pick whatever sport he wanted to do, they could pick some kind of art for him to do. 

And that ‘art’ that his mother picked was piano. 

“Mommy! I don’t wanna do piano!” Tooru screamed at his mother. “I just wanna swim!”

“It’s all just ‘I wanna do this! I wanna do that!’ for you! Tell you what! When I was little, I would just watch as the rich kids got to play piano and wish I had enough money to afford lessons! We would have to _walk_ the three miles to school! So be thankful we're even giving you this opportunity!”

Tooru bawled and ran out of the house, to the secret spot behind his and Hajime’s houses where Hajime found him, crying again.

 

 

 

 

He poked his head out from between his mother’s legs, staring at the old lady that sat next to a shiny black piano, the shiny golden _“Bosendorfer”_ sitting right over the glossy black and white keys. 

“Sit”

  
_This is middle C on your right hand_

The note was the very first thing Tooru ever played on a piano. It would not be his last.

 

 

 

It would be hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of notes later that he played his last note, not quitting piano until his very last breath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 **5 year old Tooru’s daily routine:**  
7:30-8:15 Wake up, brush teeth, get dressed  
8:15- Get on bus to go to preschool  
8:30-3:15 preschool  
3:15-3:45 Go home and eat a snack  
4:00-5:00 Swim practice  
5:15-5:45 Piano (practice or lesson depending on the day of week)  
~6:00 Dinner  
6:30-8:00 free time (usually spent with Hajime)  
8:00- bedtime! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tooru learned to love piano through the hours he spent sitting on the bench tapping away at the melody he learned that week on his secondhand Yamaha upright. Sometimes his mother would sit besides him as he played, other times Hajime would sit on the floor and draw pictures as he played the notes, stubby fingers stumbling over the chords. 

When asked what he was drawing, Hajime would always answer “the music” and hold up whatever he had been drawing. Sometimes it would be a jumble of colors and shapes, other times a landscape or clear picture of someone, of something. 

 

Then, of course, Tooru would laugh and hold up his sheet music, saying, “you’re so silly Iwa-chan! This is what the music _really_ looks like. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They were six years old when their team entered its first swim meet that allowed eight and unders to participate. 

Tooru and Hajime each swam three events over the course of two days, making them exhausted by the end of the meet at noon on sunday.

It didn’t matter that they placed sixtieth and sixty-fourth respectively in the meet. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Hajime’s sixth birthday, he gets two presents from Tooru. 

The first one is a new pair of goggles that looks expensive; he doesn’t know how much they costed the Oikawa household and he didn’t want to know either. 

The second thing is a promise. 

 

 

 

Iwa-chan, we are going to become Olympic swimmers!

 

 

 

On Hajime’s seventh birthday, he gets another three things from Tooru.

The first thing, again is a new suit that would honestly look better on Tooru. It is apparently supposed to go with a ‘drag suit’, something Hajime has to research on how to use with his parents before coming to practice the next day with the drag suit on. (“Iwa-chan you look like a professional swimmer!”)

The second thing is a t-shirt that has a picture of Godzilla on it.

The third thing is the promise Tooru made to him, this time with a contract they both sign like the politicians on TV. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tooru is eight when he has his first asthma attack. 

It’s just a regular day. They’re out for lunch, and as usual he spends the hour playing in the playground outside with Hajime and a few other friends. They do their usual stunts, hanging upside down from the monkey bars, dangling from the equipment and running too fast on too little ground much to the teacher’s annoyance when Tooru starts wheezing. 

He just breathes in and his throat doesn’t let him, rubbing against itself and drawing this awful sound from inside him and _why is it so hard to breath all of a sudden?_

He tried drawing in another breath but that just results in pain shooting through his chest and he doubles over coughing, which in turn, forces him to draw in more air which makes his head spin and his throat ache. His eyes squeeze themselves shut as another fit of coughing brings Hajime’s attention to him, arms which are slightly muscled now from their three years of swimming- helping to steady him. 

Tooru wants to push off the arms helping him. He wants to show Hajime that he can do things by himself now, that he doesn’t need the raven’s constant babying anymore, that he’s more mature, more grown up. But he can’t seem to draw in enough air to tell him that. He can’t breath-

Oh? What’s this? Hajime was guiding him somewhere, legs dragging on the floor as the taller boy practically carried him to the infirmary. The nurse’s hands were guiding him to a chair-oh telling him to sit down. Hajime was supposed to wait in another room-

_No_

His hands stubbornly wrapped themselves around Hajime’s and refused to let go, so after a few tugs the raven gave up and sat on the chair next to him. 

Tooru could hear Hajime explaining what was going on, his lungs still struggling to force oxygen in and out of his throat. He saw the nurse search around in cabinets for something, finally pulling out a few fluffy pillows and stuffing them behind and in front of him, forcing him to sit upright. A humidifier is plugged in and placed on the table next to him, as well as a mug of herbal tea which is still steaming. 

None of it though, helps him breath. 

A call home to his parents is next. Many words are exchanged between the two parties, but the only words that catch his attention are “asthma” and “attack”. So that’s what was happening. 

His breathing though, is getting even worse. When he looks down at his hands, one of which is still wrapped tightly around Hajime’s forearm, his fingernails take on a blueish tinge. That-that’s just a spot in his vision right? Right?! 

After a few more frantic minutes of searching for something, the nurse finally digs out a small plastic tube in an “L” shape. She then pulls out a translucent green tube, slightly larger this time, both in width and length. Fitting the two tubes together, the nurse give it to Tooru. 

He resists the strong urge to cough when he draws in breath through the inhaler, the medicated air tasting alien and metallic on his tongue. 

After another puff and a few minutes of waiting for the medicine to do its magic, his throat starts to stop swelling and the mucus clears, allowing him to breath normally again. Hajime is let back to class much to Tooru’s disdain, and he is taken home by his mother who didn’t stop worrying about her precious son for the entire car ride home, stop to the pharmacy included. 

A second call is made to his teacher, telling her to prepare his homework for the day and take his stuff to the infirmary. A student walks into the room a few minutes later, alien-themed bag in hand. 

Twice a day, forever, Tooru has to take two puffs to combat his asthma. 

He has to carry on him a smaller ventolin and inhaler at all times. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He sits on the piano bench and stares at the keys, fingers not finding it in him to play. 

One key, then another is pushed, and slowly, note by note, press of the pedal by press of the pedal, the melody of Für Elise is gently laid out. 

Hajime holds up his drawing, something that, this time, has a definite shape. 

 

 

 

A little boy sits alone, staring at the rain that rages outside. 

 

 

 

A hand is being offered to him.

 

 

 

He doesn’t take it and is left behind, alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tooru has just turned sten years old when he breaks thirty seconds in his fifty free. 

He can see it; the perfect turn, the perfect stroke, the perfect swim. He is practically flying through the water now, each stroke rotating his body to the side, easing him through the water faster and faster with every stroke. 

His fingers slam into the touchpad and he looks up, eyes going immediately to lane 5. 

29.83

But. 

But there’s someone in lane four isn’t there?

What was his name again?

Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

28.76

More than a second difference between first and second place in a goddamned _fifty_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Backstroke was his favorite stroke. 

 

 

 

There was a competition every year, all the way in Tokyo. People from every team in Miyagi would compete in it, hoping to make the team that would represent them in Tokyo. The top three in every event would have a chance to go. 

Currently ranked fourth in the prefecture for both the 50 and 100 back, Tooru was _not_ going to lose his place in Tokyo. 

The first day of the meet passed in an instant, placing him fourteenth in the 100 free, seventh in the 50 fly and eighth in the 200 Individual Medley. That however didn’t matter to him. There were two events that he wouldn’t lose; the 50 and 100 back. 

So there he sat, on that chair behind the blocks waiting for the 9-10 girls to finish their shot at making the team. This meet is full of opportunities both made and lost, he notes calmly as a girl in his lane heaves herself out of the land and onto the chair next to him, drawing her knees which are covered in black material up to her chest. She’s crying, he realizes with a jolt. 

The girls who made the top eight are called, one by one, to stand up on the block number they placed. Some are just happy to have made it onto the eight medalists, evident in the way they shine radiantly, waving into the crowd of their family members. Others, or rather just the girl who was crying, looks at the crowd with empty eyes and a fake smile, the act barely contained. 

Tooru knows the look of someone whose smile is just a cover up story to a shitload of feeling they can’t let anyone but themselves know. He thought, wasn’t going to let anyone see him have to cover anything up this time. 

_This time_

The whistle blew once, inviting him into the cold embrace of the college pool. His feet were braced against the touchpad, his hands wrapped tightly around the metal bars of the starting block. 

Another long whistle stilled the entire pool. There was no sound, no one to break the eight swimmers’ concentration. There was nothing other than the official, the pool, and them, ready to swim what would decide a portion of their lives. 

“ _Take your mark_ ” 

Tooru drew himself arms, muscles straining to keep himself as still as possible while still able to spring out at a moment’s notice. His head was tucked into his chest, his legs flexed and ready to go. He didn’t look around, afraid to break the spell that kept him concentrated, but Tooru knew that if he did, he would see the other swimmers, friends and enemies alike, bunched up in the same position, waiting to dive into the water and _win_.

Seconds passed, and the water had mostly stilled. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw the person next to him shift a lit-

The buzzer sounded. 

The crowd erupted in cheers, claps, people telling them to swim fast, to-

And he flying almost, through the air, his arms snapping backwards into a streamline with his left hand on top of his right as they entered the water at almost the same time. His arms, head, then torso was also swallowed by the liquid and with a final dolphin kick, he was completely submerged in the crystal clear water. 

His body slid almost effortlessly through the pool, his suit like a second skin that could repel water. 

The surface of the water was coming closer rapidly, and when there was barely a foot of water left between him and the surface of the water, Tooru turned his shoulders and hips ever so slightly to the right and pushed down with his right arm, bending at the elbow and forcing his way to the air, his thumb leading the way. His face broke the surface and he gulped for air, swinging his hand around and entering the water with a pinky while his other hand pushed through the water. 

Each stroke burned, every kick of his legs hurt like hell. It was only a fifty, so he could afford to go all out, as fast as he could without any regrets.

… Right?

But no. … There, there was something wrong, something off… What was it?

The flags approached and Tooru heaved his arms through the motions of a stroke twice more before twisting all the way to the left and onto his stomach, pushing his right arm out of the water and through the air once more before bending his arm at the elbow and pulling as much water as he could towards him. His hand dipped lower, and he somersaulted, curling up as tightly as he flipped. 

… Something was still off. 

Tooru’s legs, which were bent at a 90 degree angle, hit the water with a _smack_ and a spray of water to the poor officials that were bending over him and the lane next to him, watching their turns- no.

No.

NO.

_Where did the wall go?_

_Shit._

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no-

His feet straightened completely yet only barely grazed the touchpad on the other end of the 25 yard pool. 

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no-

Tooru tried to recover, he really did in that last 25. His arms, regardless of how much they burned, how much they screamed at him to slow down, where no less than a blur, pushing and pulling the water like a goddamned machine. His legs, already practically burnt out, kicked and kicked and _kicked_ like their lives depended on how much they did. 

But would it be enough to get him a second chance?

The last three-four strokes were the worst. At that point, Tooru could barely move, adrenaline already somehow wearing off. And it _hurt_ so, so much but he had to keep swimming, had to keep on going no matter how tired he was, no matter how sure he was that he would no longer make the top three. 

And he dived back into the wall, legs wildly kicking up and his fingers smashed into the touchpad. 

1: 32.56  
2: 33.92  
3: 32.98  
4: 32.66  
5: 32.71  
6: 33.81  
7: 34.07  
8: 33.45

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no-

He’s not in. 

Please no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no-

The whistle sounded, delighted swimmers climbing out of the pool with a spring in their step. They were all happy, some ecstatic at the thought of dropping a few milliseconds off their original time, others bubbling at the prospect of making the team. 

All of them were happy but Tooru. 

His arms-they shouldn’t have been able to even move after pulling as fast they could for a fifty- were able to ease his body out of the water with almost no problems, his legs able to support him easily. They carried him over to the nearest unoccupied chair, the chair the crying girl had sat in, and he promptly collapsed into it. 

The tears though, managed to stay hidden away. 

Drawing his long limber arms to his chest and wrapping his arms around himself, his face was finally protected from any unwanted gazes and he was able to- finally- break down in earnest and start to cry, awful sobs ripping through his chest and big fat tears streaming down his face. 

The suit he’d spent so much time saving up for, using nearly a year of his allowance (a Speedo LZR elite Jammer), was painted in his tears. They slid right off though, and the almost white droplets from the pool joined them. 

 

A chair drew up next to his and a hand- big and calloused yet somehow so soft on his shoulder, pulled him in for a hug. 

“You’re ugly when you cry,” Hajime whispered to the crying backstroker. “Don’t.”

Tooru sobbed again, this time into his best friend's shoulder and shook his head, unable to form words. 

“Look, Trashykawa. You-you’re an amazing swimmer. Everyone here knows that.” Hajime struggled for words, eloquence never really being his strong point. That was Tooru’s job. “Just one bad swim isn’t going to change that.”

Tooru just kept on shaking his head, awful sobs still wracking his body. His head shook side to side, saying what he couldn’t form in words. _No I’m not the amazing person you make me out to be please don’t say that it’s not my fault that I failed-_

“You have so many opportunities ahead of you, you have the rest of the year, you have next year, and the year after that, and however many years come after that. You’re already much faster than I am, and you can continue to be faster, and faster, and go to the olympics like you always wanted to.”

 

How does Tooru say what he wants to say when he cannot say anything? Other than the sobs that shake his body, the hiccups that accompany them every once in awhile, he is reduced to only grasping at what he want’s to tell Hajime. He wants to tell him that he should quit right now, when he can still pick up another sport. Volleyball looked interesting; if he tried, he could probably become good at it. And forget about the olympics, they were too far away now, and even if he practiced until his body broke down he wouldn’t be able to swim faster than the geniuses that had worked so much less than him. 

“Think of it like this-your swimming career is like one big race.” Hajime said, searching through his mind to explain how he felt. Time to pull out the philosophical side of him. “When you start, you’re slapped in the face with a pool of ice-cold water and you’re stunned for a moment. But then, you do your underwater kicks and start the race for real. Every stroke; that’s a new best time, a new cut that you spent years working towards. And the first time you enter a big race and try to get into an even bigger one? That’s a flips turn, because from there, you have to come out stronger, come out faster, and come out with a new set of underwaters that leave everyone eating your dust- or rather, bubbles. Just messing up a little bit on a flip turn doesn’t mean that the race is over- you saw it, felt it for yourself didn’t you? You can regain your speed from a lost turn. You can come back stronger, better, faster, and with the will to _win_.

“You can reach the end of the race in first place- not meaning your career is over faster for you, but that you come out victorious, the grand king of swimming.”

Hajime is not blushing because _wtf was that that was so cheesy_.

Tooru is still crying. Hajime’s words though, still strike a chord within him. He wants to win, really does. Just like he did during the fifty he failed in, after the lost turn that caused him a major part of his life. So he will come back stronger, he will come back better, he _will come back faster or not at all_.

Even if his body has to break down for him to achieve it. 

(200 free: 2:28.16  
1oo back: 1:13.27  
50 free: 29.23)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oikawa Tooru is twelve years old- three months before the deciding meet- when he’s in practice, trying his hardest to become faster when his knee starts acting up. 

Hajime notices right away, not even bothering to tell the pre-teen. He knew that the brunette knew something was up with his knee, no matter how much he downplayed it, but would never tell anyone. So what does the twelve year old do to tell on his best friend?

Naturally, he tattles to Tooru’s mother, who takes him to the doctor a week later. 

The brunette stares, unseeing, as a piece of paper is handed to him. 

_“Patellofemoral Syndrome,”_ the doctor tells him. 

 

 

 

Physical therapy is terrible. He hates it. But twice a week he trudges into the little room, has his body tortured, is put on stim for a few minutes and trudges out, grumpier than before. Every day he ices his knees for twenty minutes, ten after school and ten right before going to sleep. 

Hajime helps him as much as the angsty brunette allows him to. When Tooru can’t help but groan at the idea of going to another Physical therapy session, he quite actually drags his sorry ass into the car, promising to headbutt him as hard as he could if the backstroker didn’t try his hardest. 

He knew though, that to get better in time for the meet, the younger boy would do anything. Break his body again and again until he could barely move to climb to the top. 

He also knew that he would climb to the top with him, always a step back to prevent him from falling. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three months pass in the blink of the eye, and Tooru stands once again behind the blocks. This time though, he stands over lane five, next to Ushijima Wakatoshi who has a seed time almost a second faster than him. 

He is not mad. He just has the grim knowledge that Ushijima, or rather Ushiwaka-chan, was faster than him in everything, including the events he thought he was the best at.

Well, that changes today. 

The whistle sounded and the eight swimmer got into the pool, Tooru being careful not to get any water on his arms. Superstitions came with being an athlete after all; what can just a simple superstition to do harm you ?

Speed wasn’t something that came naturally to him, like it did to most of the other people that were considered the ‘fast’ people. Tooru knew that he had probably practiced for more hours than anyone here, at the final eight qualifiers, at the entire meet, entire prefecture, maybe even entire country. The pool was like a second home to him, he grew up by it, measured time by how long it took him to get from one end to another. 

And knowing that, he knew something else. 

_I’m not going to lose today._

The whistle sounded a second time, one long huff of air that quieted the entire pool with its finality. The swimmers could hear every breath they took, feel each beat of their heart pulse through their bodies. 

It felt great, yet each and every man in the water was terrified. The rush of adrenaline pumping through their bodies was nothing compared to the heavy weight of failure hanging over them. 

“ _Take your mark,_ ” the official called. That was it, the signal for the entire pool to still, everyone in it to hold their breaths as the boys heaved themselves up with their tense arms and legs, ready to fly off of the blocks at moment’s notice. 

There’s this voice in the back of all of their heads, telling them to _go,go,go,go go, sound the buzzer_ when it happens, everyone in the pool feels it with feeling coming back to their bodies-the buzzer sounds and with it an explosion of noise erupts, all at once. The swimmers push off, throwing their heads back with their arms locking into a streamline, their legs fueled by the cheers that urged to go faster, to be better. 

And Tooru did exactly that, he willed his arms to the extreme, his legs even beyond that. He didn’t care about the searing pain throbbing in his right knee; he had no time to. Instead, he swam, and swam, and swam and drove his fingers into the wall as fast as he could, looking up once he could breath again. 

What he saw drove the breath out of his lungs. 

Because not only did he drop nearly a second in a single swim, in a fifty, going a 27.43 (a new team record might he add), there was also a small number 1 next to his name. 

And the best part? 

Ushiwaka-chan went a 28.09. 

It brought tears to his eyes once again; but this time it was happiness that prickled in his veins and flowed through his system. 

 

 

 

And this time when he wrapped his arms tightly around Hajime, sobbed into his strong shoulder, the arms that wrapped back around him were sure and the lips that told him “Good job” were smiling. 

 

 

 

(100 IM 1:00.78 (second place)  
500 free: 5:27.32 (third place)  
100 back: 59.78 (first place)  
50 free: 24.88(second place))

 

 

 

 

 

 

His fingers flew over the ivory keys of the Estonia piano his parents had gotten to celebrate his going to the national meet. 

Piece after piece as played, all he could remember from his years of playing piano. And Hajime sat in the little armchair beside him, doing the homework for the three days of school in order to go to tokyo for the swim meet. 

Tooru, being the diligent student he was, already finished all of it. It wasn’t that Tooru was particularly smart or anything; he just had an amazing memory. You could tell him something and he wouldn’t forget it until ten years (and many more shots) later. 

He ended with the final, tentative yet strong last chord of Rachmaninoff (Rachmaninov) prelude in C# minor. 

Hajime had to excuse himself to wipe the tears off of his eyes. 

 

 

At the secret meeting place- that’s where they both cried into each other’s arms and shamelessly howled. Their team- all of the miyagi prefecture had placed third to last out of all of the prefectures. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tooru wrapped his knee in kinesiology tape, listening to the footsteps outside the door. If Hajime found him having to tape his knee just to get through a normal day… 

He wouldn’t be able to practice for days. 

 

 

 

 

That would hurt him more than his knee. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Middle school is where he found others like him, people that loved swimming almost as much as they loved eating. 

Their team was one of the fastest around, something the two teenager’s mothers never failed to mention to visiting family or friends. They themselves, Hajime and Tooru, were two of the fastest on the team, even including their upperclassmen. 

No one could beat Tooru’s backstroke…. 

At least not when he wasn’t swallowing painkillers as his fingernails dug into his palm. 

Not when the KT tape wasn’t even enough to stop the pain that was a constant reminder that he wasn’t enough, that he would never be. 

And not when Hajime had to drag the brunette home after hours of practice only to find his knee red and swollen- to which the older teen would grab an ice pack from the freezer and wrap his knee in athletic tape, propping Tooru’s legs up on a stack of pillows. Then, Hajime, with a temper shorter than the width of a hair, would whack the younger boy with either his hand, a snorkel or a pull buoy, and make him promise to never make his knee hurt this much ever again. 

He always did it again though- and it hurt Hajime so much, to see his best friend broken, barely able to walk without a noticeable limp. 

It broke him too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you know the feeling of failing?

But not just any failure, the failure where you let down more than just yourself. The type of failure that hurts others, the people that are close to you. And it’s not just because they feel sorry for you, or understand how you feel, but because it’s your fault they _they_ failed as well. 

This is precisely why Tooru hated relays. 

He was a backstroker, forcing him to go first whenever a medley relay came along. And there's always one thing that prevents him from going all out in his relays. 

This time it was his own body, working against him.

The buzzer sounded and immediately as he tried to push off the block a jolt of pain shot through his knee. _No no please no not now_. 

Pain throbbed from his knee though his entire body, his fingertips, toes, and everywhere in between. Every splash of water that he kicked over the lane, every inch that he moved came with a blaring pain that could be ignored. 

And he tried to. 

But couldn’t. 

When his feet hit the wall on his turn, Tooru couldn’t stop a hiss of pain from bubbling out from his teeth. There was so much pain- and yet, somehow, he managed to finish with one last dolphin kick and a bite to his tongue so hard he tasted the rusty blood that flooded his mouth. 

And his time- 29.02

That was what hurt the most. 

He tried- twice, three times to climb out of the pool with only one working knee but failed both times, finally giving in and accepting Hajime’s arm that hauled him out of the water. 

Everyone else said “good job” or “you went really fast” but he knows they’re just lying through their teeth and hoping he’ll stop pretending that he was good enough. 

They didn’t win, though they were seeded with a faster time than anyone else swimming. 

But you know who did win?

Shiratorizawa and stupid, stupid Ushiwaka. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oikawa Tooru was in his final year of junior high when it happened.

Kageyama Tobio. The rising backstroker that was faster than most people three years older than him. He was good at anything and everything, and when placed in a pool he could amaze all with his raw talent and the sheer fluidity of his stroke. 

Tooru hated him. It wasn’t because Tobio was faster than him; oh god no. They were seconds apart in everything backstroke related, and miles apart in smarts. Tobio had, according to one of the members of Tooru’s fanclub, almost failed three of his classes’ midterms, and actually failed the others. 

He shows his disapproval by quite actually turning his nose up at him and stalks out, Hajime in tow. 

 

 

 

It didn't’ help that Ushijima kept on beating him in everything but backstroke. 

It also didn’t help that his fingers froze over in the winter and prevented him from slamming down keys on the piano. 

And it certainly didn’t help that Hajime was acting as a proper senior to the genius backstroker. 

 

 

 

He had noticed little things- the way his heart would flutter whenever the other walked into the room. Whenever the tone of his voice changed from sugary sweet or pissed off to soft, real, and affectionate. 

That meant nothing. They were just friends. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That however, didn’t stop the _brat_ for pestering Tooru at almost every chance he got. 

“Please teach me how to do a good backstroke start.”

“Please teach me how to do a good flip-turn.”

“Please teach me what the best ways to do each stroke are.”

“Please-”

He’s had enough. 

He has had enough. 

He can’t take it anymore; the overly polite method of speaking, the innocence in the young swimmer’s eyes, the obvious love for the sport that Tooru was beginning to lose. 

And his hand is flying towards his unsuspecting underclassman, ready to knock that stupidly hopeful grin off of his head-

No?

It stopped?

Why?

Oh.

Iwa-chan’s arm was there, fingers wrapped tightly around Tooru’s wrist. The tan skin is hot to the touch, Tooru observes calmly, too calmly for the utter _hatred_ pouring out of his posterior. 

And Tobio looks at the arms inches from his face with such surprise. Like, has he not noticed the hostility that Tooru had spent time laboring over whether it was _too much_ or _too little_?

He hates him. 

At the same time though, he sees himself in the boy. 

He sees the innocence in his eyes and is reminded of his once vibrant love for swimming, lived for the laps that he swam over again and again. 

He sees the hope in his eyes and is brung back to a time when everything was as easy as just getting a time, everything could be solved with a second shaved off of the old time. 

But now, after ten years of it, Oikawa Tooru knows that the world is no longer just a place where you can swim. Where everything is made up of the peaceful waves of the pool that lap up against your shins when you stand in it. 

There’s so much more. 

Loss. 

Failure. 

And he’s afraid of it. 

Hajime dismissed the younger backstroker and turned to look at his best friend. There was fear in his eyes as he stared at his wrist, and his mouth was hanging slightly open. His eyes were blank. 

And oh god did Hajime want to kiss those soft, pink lips. 

But instead, he grabbed the brunette’s shoulders and shook him. 

“Iwa-chan, what was that for?” there was that sickly smile on his face. The smile that he covered everything with, the smile that was always there when Tooru had nothing else to turn to. 

But right now, he had Hajime to turn to didn’t he? What did he have to keep from his best friend?

Hajime didn’t know. 

So he did the only thing he did know and headbutted him as hard as he could. 

There was pain, but also a twinge of satisfaction, seeing as the younger teen, who was usually taller than him was now underneath him. 

“What was that for?” Tooru repeated, a trickle of blood leaking from his left nostril. There was a brief flicker of guilt in Hajime’s chest for making his bleed, but it was quickly stamped out by the raging frustration and anger that had already took control of his actions. 

“You fucking idiot!” Hajime yelled at him. Screw language. “Wh-why? Why do you hate Kageyama so much!?”

“He’s a genius.” Tooru whispered. “I’m not. And he works so hard too- _he loves swimming_.”

“And you don’t?!” Hajime all but snarled back at him. The younger teen flinched and hung his head. “Who was it that forced me to get into the sport with him? Who kept on dragging me to practice? Who beat Ushi-fucking-waka?!”

“And who had to keep urging me on even after I wanted to quit again and again?” Tooru answered. 

“Me! I did! Because I saw how much you loved to swim- don’t you dare deny it,” he growled when Tooru opened his mouth to speak. “Remember your promise, Tooru.”

That stunned him into silence.

“Remember your promise you made to me, year after year on my birthday. Remember what you said- that we were going to be olympic swimmers. That we would beat Ushiwaka. Are you just going to break them?

“Kuso-Oikawa, will you just give up? Because sure, you’re not a genius. But you work harder than anyone out there, more than anyone in Miyagi- the entire country even. You broke your knee because you swam too much, and what did you do after that? You kept on swimming even after it hurt you to bend it. So are you just going to throw everything, your dreams, your knee, the past ten years of your life, are you going to just throw it all away because a little kid is catching up to your times? You don’t love swimming- right. And I don’t love you.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. For the both of them. Hajime didn’t even realize what he said until Tooru stared at him with wide eyes and a blush that painted his entire body a deep pink. Then it was his turn to blush down to his toes. 

But he meant every word he said. 

And if he pushed him away because of them-

Well, at the very least Tooru would be happy. 

Even if it would hurt-kill Hajime if he did. 

 

 

 

“I do love swimming.”

 

 

 

“And I love you too.”

 

 

 

“But I… I’m not enough.”

 

 

 

“Kuso-Oikawa, you’re enough for your fanclub. You’re enough for your friends. You’re enough for your family. And you’ll always be enough for me. No, you’re more than enough. No one can understand how much you do- and not just swimming. I see your fake smiles, I see how much you try to make the people around you happier, even if it leaves you morose. I’ve seen all of you, every side of you, and I love all of it. I love you. So please, don’t say that. You’re perfect, just the way you are.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Tooru wiped the tears off of his face, smiling slightly. “Iwa-chan just called me perfect!” 

Hajime blushed and shook his head furiously. “No I did not”

And the brunette giggled, striking a ridiculous pose and sticking his fingers into a peace sign. 

“Do you want me to make you bleed from the other nostril?!”

“Don’t worry Iwa-chan, Oikawa-san thinks you’re perfect too!”

Hajime did not blush to the roots of his hair.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

They learn each other, to a level that goes beyond _best friends_ , or even _lovers_. They are something else entirely, a bond between them created by years spent at each other’s sides. Their limits, theirs likes, dislikes, how they like to have their tea (Oikawa likes it lukewarm and with some honey and milk in it, Hajime likes it piping hot with nothing added to it). They know each other better than they know themselves. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oikawa Tooru is fifteen when he makes his first olympic cut. 

And he beats Ushijima Wakatoshi in his second event in the same meet. 

The same event. 

The 100 backstroke. 

56.24 long course. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He does of course, go to the olympic trials. 

Even though he doesn’t expect anything out of it, he still wants to go. 

Even though he told everyone he didn’t expect to make it to the olympic team at sixteen, he still spends countless hours staring at his computer screen trying to memorize the top backstrokers stroke and attempting them in practice. He still does his knee exercises even though they won't be able to do anything this close to the meet. He still has to be forced into eating, into sleeping, into doing anything other than swimming lap after lap in the pool by none other than a very agitated Hajime. He still walks into the pool with his stomach trying to do gymnastics. He still tries his hardest. 

And he still cries into Hajime’s muscled shoulder when he comes just short of making the top eight. He still buries his face into the crook of the raven’s neck, sobs shaking his body uncontrollably. And he still babbles on and on about how he isn’t enough, how he won’t ever be enough, about how he has to be more, be better. 

And Hajime doesn’t fail to answer to every single one of those babbles, kissing away Tooru’s tears and just holding him, in the same meadow he first told Tooru to never give up. 

Look at where they are now. 

So close.

Yet,

So far. 

 

(Tooru stops crying in time for the two of them to go home. Hajime sleeps over, something both of their parents are used to at this point.

The two teenagers tangle themselves in each other’s limbs, tears once again flowing freely down Tooru’s cheeks.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chopin, etude opus 15 number 12: Ocean.

And Tooru slams down each broken arpeggio like it personally offended him, foot stomping down the pedal. 

In front of the people filling the hall, he plays the song better than he ever had before. For the first time, he wasn’t playing the piano, he was using the piano to pour out all of his frustrations, skilled fingers dancing across the keys and somehow pressing down just hard enough. He didn’t care about the eyes staring at his back, didn’t care about the judges marking scores down on paper. He just cares about the keys, the only thing keeping him in place at this point.

And his fingers find the last chord and with it comes a rush of sorrow and grief and hurt and pain- pain he never let anyone even know about. 

Many of the audience cry. 

One of the judges do. 

He passes and flies to America for another concert there. 

And this time, he plays even better, if possible. 

Because out of all people he could’ve invited to America with him, Iwa-chan was the one that came. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He’s seventeen years old and Tobio has made his first olympic cut. 

He sees the difference in his kouhai immediately; he might act like he doesn’t give two shits but Tooru is actually very observant in times like these. 

The king has found himself a queen. 

Or more accurately, the king has found someone who could put up with him, someone who could look past his independence and accept him. 

And the former king has become stronger for it, ruled more fairly. He rapidly improved due to the little orange haired breastroker who bounced with unrestrained energy and a bright smile. 

He wasn’t that fast, and yet… 

He was something else, that Hinata Shouyou. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Iwa-chan?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are you going to go for college?”

“That’s easy.”

“Huh?! Iwa-chan already knows where he’s going to go to college?!”

“Yeah.”

“Were?! Tell me Iwa-chan~ I need to know!!”

“I’m going wherever you’re going.”

“Ehhhh?! That’s not a proper answer!”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to go to that college- the one where all of the top swimmers go? I’ll go there if you go. And if you don’t want to go there, I’ll follow you wherever.”

There’s a brief pause as Tooru pauses to think. 

“Iwa-chan is such a romantic~”

“Do you want to die?!

 

 

 

The two boys grow more familiar with each other, learning the curves and crevices of their bodies, one touch at a time. They learn where the other is weakest, where the other will most definitely cave to their insistent touches. And of course, their bond only grows deeper.

 

 

 

In the end, they did go to the same college- something that they had agreed on even before the talk they had about it. They had grown up together, swam together, went through so much together- it was only natural that they’d enter the next stage of their lives together, hand in hand. 

They somehow afforded to move out of their parents’ houses even, something they were proud and grateful for. The two no longer had to listen for footsteps outside their door every time they slept in each other’s arms, no longer having to silence each other as they came. 

It didn’t matter that it was a crappy apartment with only one bedroom, one bathroom, and a kitchen so small it couldn’t really be considered a kitchen. It was theirs. 

 

 

 

 

Hajime majored in sports medicine- something he took pride in. It wasn’t that he was particularly smart like his obnoxious brunette best friend, lover, and recent roommate, it was just that he didn’t want anymore people to suffer like Tooru did. He didn’t want any other person to have to give up on something they love just because their bodies wouldn’t let them. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, since they are broke college students with no intention of having to drain more and more of their parent’s resources, the two of them each somehow find and keep a part time job. 

Tooru is quite actually dragged from one of his first classes by another man who, admittedly, is pretty handsome (Tooru though, is a taken man). He then finds that the man, Kise, is actually a model and forced him to model with him, due to his the person he was scheduled to shoot with came down with a bad case of the flu. The pay was pretty good, but it did nothing to stop the flow of fangirls that nearly drowned him everytime he walked in or out of a class. 

The two fanclubs clashed often (“Kise-kun is so much hotter!” “But Oikawa-kun is _so_ dreamy!” “Basketball is cooler than swimming!” “He already made the olympic times!”) which resulted in the two of them becoming pretty good friends while escaping from them… 

Well, as good friends as they could be while constantly competing over every little thing. 

 

 

 

Hajime managed to get a job at a local coffee shop, where Tooru and his fangirls would constantly mob. It got to the point where his manager had to put in place a rule saying you had to order something if you wanted to bother another customer. 

This resulted in much, much more sales for the little coffee shop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s the summer- right after his nineteenth birthday. 

It’s the little things, the little things that slowly add up to bigger things, and then those slightly bigger things which add up to so, so much. 

The first little thing was months ago- Tooru’s mother hadn’t been able to open a pickle jar, instead having her son help her to screw open the lid. He’d thought nothing of it, just her getting older and no longer being able to do as much as she once could. Never could he think that it was just the beginning- the prologue to a story filled with so, so much pain. 

And now, months later, months filled with his mother slowly getting only more and more frail, no longer able to do the most mundane tasks. He should have noticed sooner, should have seen how this had gone beyond old age. 

So he stares into the hospital room where his mother lies- not even noticing the tear tracks on his cheeks, the warm hand enveloping his. The pain makes it impossible to do so- drowning out everything but his grief. 

 

 

 

Death is, and will always be a something that hurts more than just one person. 

It will also be something that affects the people they love, the people that loved them. 

And so twenty year old Oikawa Tooru learns, sobbing into Hajime’s shoulder as the doctors tell his father that his mother has now passed on. 

Dead. Gone. Passed on. They all mean the same thing, why try to cover it up with some stupid saying like “passed on”? Just say it as it is- the person you loved no longer exists. They’re dead- just another person in the billions of people that have lost their lives to some reason or another. 

Tooru has always tried to sugarcoat everything with a smile and false cheer that would fool everyone but Hajime- he won't deny that.Death though- that’s something that you _can’t_ sugarcoat. It’s not something where you can just say a few magical words and suddenly it’s all better- far from it if anything. So why torture everyone close to the deceased? Why have a day where all you do is think about what could’ve been, what their lives couldn’t ever become now that it’s ended. Why bask in their accomplishments if they’re dead, and those trophies- those amazing titles, those countless hours spent on doing things they loved so much- mean nothing now? 

Doesn’t that just hurt more?

And the fact that Tooru was told to speak in front of people, some who barely even knew his mother- that hurt all the more. 

_“I first want to thank every one of you for… coming here today. Friends, family, whoever you are, this woman was important you and-” His voice was broken off by a sob. “-and like me, losing her- losing her this soon- was something we never thought would happen.”_

Of course it was something that would never happen- she was his mother after all. She was the person that guided him through life, the figure that always was there no matter what he needed, no matter what he did. 

_“It’s not everyday that you find someone like my mother- someone who isn’t afraid to speak their mind, someone who wasn’t afraid to announce their faults. She was the type of person who would say not what people wanted her to say, not even what she wanted to say, but rather, what she wanted people to hear.”_

That was true, Tooru thought, memories dancing in front of his eyes. His mother had never been one to dance around the subject at hand, instead rather bluntly stating the problem. Apparently that was how she announced that she was pregnant with him too- quiet actually stepping out of the bathroom and saying “I have a human fetus growing inside of my womb.”

_“And so I hope she can watch over all of us and be happy of what we decide to do with what remains of our lives. It was her, that opened my- and many others’ eyes to the world that lies beyond our perception, the world that you have to step into to understand. And now, as she has moved on from our world, I hope she can find so much more, a world that she deserves.”_

He doesn’t care that there are tears streaming down his face- something Hajime always tells him makes him look ugly and stupid. He doesn’t care that, for once, he is vulnerable and exposed for who he really is. 

_“So thank all of you, again, for coming here today and- and- and taking the time to properly send my mother off, to another world where she can be truly happy.”_

That was a lie- when you die, according to Tooru, you don’t just go on to wherever you want to go in life next. You end, cease to exist. And now his mother was gone. Ended. Never would he see her again. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to exist, hell, he wished desperately for her too still exist somewhere, in some form. 

But when he died, he would also be gone. And he wouldn’t be able to see anyone again, no matter how hard he tried. 

Just as no matter how he worked at swimming, he wouldn’t ever be able to beat the geniuses that could naturally fly from one end of the pool to another. 

 

 

 

 

The cold december air is a reminder to this- cold, forbidding. 

 

 

 

 

Hajime cried too- Tooru’s mother had practically raised him as her second son, third child. 

And it hurt to see the person he oved most break down, hurt so much, yet be able to do absolutely nothing about it. 

He did what he could though- wrapping his arms protectively in Tooru’s bed, letting the taller man know that he wasn’t alone. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And one of the worst things was how Tooru would stumble home at ungodly hours of the morning, completely wasted, trying desperately to forget. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oikawa Tooru was twenty-one when he made his first olympics. 

And not just in one event- three in fact, the 100 back, 200 back, and 50 free. 

For the first time

 

 

 

And after semi-finals for the 50 free, Tooru turns to his best friend and sobs. He tried- he really did. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s not enough though. He’s never enough. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Modeling though, only goes up. After making the olympic team, his popularity skyrocketed. He modeled for new suits, swim products, basically everything now. 

The failure though, still was heavy on his mind as he plastered on a bright smile to the whole world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It hurts, his knee. It hurts so, so much. 

Hajime wakes up in the middle of the night to Tooru quietly crying. 

No one knows what exactly was wrong with his knee- it just didn’t work right, and hurt so much. Almost nothing helped, other than KT tape and painkillers, but neither would hold for long. 

Hajime held his best friend as his sobs slowed, crawling toward a peaceful sleep. 

 

 

 

Hajime has his own share of death a two and a half years after Tooru does.

He doesn’t know the man well, some distant uncle or something. But he sees the despair on the people’s faces who knew him the best. 

 

 

 

Tooru is at the pool (where else would he be?) when Hajime comes to him crying. 

When asked what was wrong, Hajime shook his head.

Later though, would Tooru realize- Hajime was afraid of losing someone close to him.

He held the shorter man tightly in his embrace that night. _You won’t lose me, Iwa-chan. I’m sure you’ve realized by now- it isn’t that easy to get rid of me._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happiness, too, is a constant in both of their lives. 

Here’s a list:

1- Early morning sleepy Iwa-chan. Hajime was, if anything, not a morning person and therefore wasn’t able to function as a normal human being for at least until he got some caffeine in the usual form of coffee (dark and bitter, just like his personality). This allowed for early morning cuddles where Hajime would absolutely refuse to get out of bed and drag his obnoxious brunette down to the bed for ten or so more minutes of half-sleep. 

2- Coffee. Fusing your blood with ungodly amounts of caffeine to survive the load of work they were dumped with was a rite of passage in Aoba Johsai, so they were used to not being able to survive the day without at least a cup or two. (Tooru likes his with about half a cup of sugar and half cream)

3- Knee massages. This is something that they both enjoy- Tooru because it alleviates the pain that plagues his mind, and Hajime because he can see Tooru relaxed for once. He’s sure no one else notices the slightly pinched expression on Tooru’s face everytime he does something involving his knee. 

4- Weekends out with the fam. (Takahiro, Issei, and sometimes Hajime's new gym buddies: Tetsurou and Koutarou, also sometimes their boyfriends).

 

 

 

 

Flowers on the grave in the cold december wind;  
Continue to bloom they did not.  
Yet they withered like the hopes of loved ones;  
And the tears of those who weren’t  


Hajime had finally, after much hating life, goten his bachelor's degree and could move on to medical school. After that though, he would have to go through 3 years of residency…

Now was a good time to hate his life decisions.

But he had chosen this path; he couldn’t just back down now.

 

 

 

Life continued on as life should continue on. World championships were held, and Tooru’s fame as a swimmer- part time model- only grew. Hajime watched from the sidelines, always there to catch Tooru when he fell, always the person to righten the backstroker back up before anyone had even noticed he’d stumbled. 

And soon, all too soon, yet somehow too late- something the brunette had waited much too long for, the year came where he would have to go back to the place where he had failed, and this time, not. 

This time it was in the United States, in Los Angeles. It was the same though, for wherever it would be it would still be the same, still be the _olympics_. 

The trials passed in a flash: and the events Tooru made were the 100 and 200 back as well as the 50 free. The same events he had swam four years ago. 

Well, he could’ve made more if he wanted to, but he wanted to give others a chance at fulfilling their dreams. There was also a selfish hope in there, a hope that he would finally be able to correct his failures and make up what he had lost that day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And now he stood at the block once again- this time, instead of the young boy drooling at the TV screen, he was the swimmer. 

And this time as he arched his back and launched himself (with a shriek of protest from his knees) off of the touchpad, he wasn’t the one staying up at midnight staring at every frame with an analytical eye.

He wasn’t the one that tried to copy every pull of his arm, nor was he the one that practiced much more than he should’ve on that flip turn. 

He wasn’t the one that cheered in the stands; he was the one who was cheered for. 

And as Tooru slammed into the wall, ramming his fingers into the smooth surface of the touchpad, he wasn’t the one that watched with wide eyes as the world record was broken in front of him. 

He was the one that broke it, the one that stared at the four digits (49.94) and realized that those four digits, _that world record_ , was _his_.

 

 

 

Tooru ended up winning the 200 back as well, and placed second in the 50 free, right after Ushiwaka. 

Japan won the 4x100 medley relay (Oikawa Tooru in backstroke, Akaashi Keiji in breast, Bokuto Koutarou in fly, and Ushijima Wakatoshi as the anchor and freestyler), as well as the 4x100 free relay (comprised of Bokuto Koutarou, Nanase Haruka, Oikawa Tooru and Ushijima Wakatoshi), They got fourth in the 4x200, just missing the podium but nonetheless happy with their results. 

 

 

 

Tooru practically flew into Hajime’s arms later that night. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At only twenty-six years of age, Tooru couldn’t get out of bed anymore due to his knees practically searing in pain. 

At only twenty-six years of age, Oikawa Tooru got a surgery that would never allow him to swim, at least competitively, ever again. 

At only twenty-six years of age, Oikawa Tooru, the beautiful rising star, would never set another record, would never feel the rush of a race, would never squeeze his legs into a speedo jammer, would never carefully place a cap bearing his name and JAPAN on it, would never do so much- ever again. 

At only twenty-six years of age, Oikawa Tooru cried into his best friend’s shoulder, into his lover’s shoulder, into Hajime’s shoulder, because he would never be able to do the thing he loved most ever again. 

And at only twenty-six years of age, Oikawa Tooru wanted to give up. 

But, at only twenty-six years of age, Oikawa Tooru vowed to never give up the thing he loved so much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(EXTRA: THE KARAOKE NIGHT SOMETIME AFTER TOORU'S FIRST OLYMPICS)

For some reason or another, Tooru had suggested karaoke as this month’s “activity”, and for an even more audacious reason, it was approved by almost everyone (“Keiji has _such_ an amazing voice” “We just want to see Oikawa make a total fool of himself” “Hey!”) It was, in retrospect, much, ah, _tamer_ than some of their other nights out which Keiji and Kenma usually would skip out on, including going to a strip club maybe once or twice. 

They go to a private room upon entering, a little bit late due to Tooru taking two hours in the bathroom, and are greeted with the sight of their friends and former kouhai already lounging on the sofa’s and sipping their drinks. 

A full list of the attending people:

-Matsukawa Issei  
-Hanamaki Takahiro  
-B(r)okuto Kouta(b)rou  
-Ku(b)roo Tetsu(b)rou  
-Kozume Kenma (Who is on his phone with earbuds in his ears, already shunning out all conversation)  
-Akaashi Keiji(Who is, from the looks of it, on his fourth drink and is clearly suffering)  
-Kindaichi (Who invited him? He is too innocent… )  
-Kunimi Akira  
-Kageyama Tobio (Who is lowkey fangirling over all of the famous swimmers packed into the little room)  
-Hinata Shouyou (Who is highkey fangirling over all of the famous swimmers packed into the little room)  
… and… Ushiwaka?! WHY?!

(Akaashi Keiji is an olympic breaststroker who managed to snag three medals in total, one bronze in the 4x100 medley relay, one silver in the 200 meter breastroke, and another bronze in the 100 meter breastroke, Bokuto Koutarou is an all around swimmer who specializes in butterfly, winning the 200 meter butterfly, getting one bronze in the 4x100 medley relay, and two silver in the 100 fly and 1500 freestyle, Oikawa Tooru got one bronze in the 4x100 medley relay, and Ushiwaka got two golds for the 50 and 100 free, one silver in the 200 freestyle, and a bronze in the 4x100 medley relay.)(This was all at the 2020 Tokyo Olympics)

Naturally, they have an arm wrestling competition to decide the first singer once the last people arrive, and with Hajime sitting out because he hates both singing and Tooru’s singing voice, Koutarou wins easily and passes the mic to Keiji, who sighs and stands up. 

The song is picked with a huddle between the owlish man and his cat-like best friend, and soon Keiji is holding the mic and facepalming as the intro of an American pop song starts playing. 

Honestly, the poor, overworked student doesn’t deserve this. But to be fair, his (crazy) boyfriend was right; he did have a pretty good singing voice. Granted, he sang about an octave lower than the actual song because not everyone is able to reach those high-frequency sound waves that he was supposed to be emitting, but still, pretty good. 

Tooru would even go as far as to say better than him.

_I've been here all night_  
I've been here all day  
And boy, got me walkin' side to side 

(His english is amazingly good and doesn’t speak broken engrish like everyone else in the room. Of course, no one can understand him, but the translations are on the bottom on the screen so good enough)

Oh wait shit, shit shit go back go back- they are in public Keiji shouldn’t be seductively sauntering over to Bokuto and following the lyrics so much- abort mission! (Mission failed we’ll get ‘em next time!) 

Tobio has his hand clamped firmly over Shoyuou’s eyes and Hajime is trying to cover both Akira and Yuutarou’s eyes at the same time and it’s not really working, and oh my god the shirt came off- 

And holy mother of christ- Keiji can _rap_. 

This mixture of intoxication, bad decisions, and a boyfriend that doesn’t know to stop being an overeager puppy has the two on one of the couches lip-locked and oblivious to everyone around them. 

Someone is recording this (Kenma, he uses it as blackmail a few days later and gets a massive load of sweets from the poor suffering Keiji), someone else is crying (Yuutarou, we must protect the turnip head at all costs), and the rest of the people are trying not to look as the lyrics are somehow sang through Koutarou’s mouth. Hajime has no doubt that if it was Tooru this intoxicated and singing this song, they’d probably be the ones about to ruin the innocence of so many young children. Of course, the brunette would meet resistance… 

… At first at least. 

The song finishes with a final lyric, and Keiji has somehow managed to look entirely presentable in the time everyone had their eyes closed. His shirt, believe it or not, is buttoned properly, and his pants are fully on, the fly zipped shut and everything. The same, however, cannot be said for the poor Koutarou, who is looking dazed and-

Nope, everyone cover their eyes again.

A minute or two later, someone (Kuroo), asks if it’s okay for them to open their eyes again, which is answered by a very out of it Kouratou. When they do, at least he’s… dressed? 

Oh yeah, there was a sleeping Keiji curled up right next to him. 

After that, heh hem, _show_ , that had been put on by the two olympians, no one was quite willing to take the mic anymore and it was given to Ushi(waka)jima- he had not even closed his eyes during the Bokuaka scene- who managed to completely kill the timid mood of the crowd with his completely monotone singing voice. The mic was snagged out of his hand by a grinning Tetsurou, and he finished the song as loudly and terribly as he could. 

After the rest of the song which had everyone covering their ears instead of their eyes like the last song, there was a short break to recover their eardrums. 

Drinks were passed around, and plates of snacks were brought in by two waiters, who was winked at by Tooru and then promptly fainted. She had to be carried out by her friend which had a serious nosebleed going on due to seeing the sleeping Keiji who had a slice of skin shown due to his shirt riding up when he fell asleep on the couch. There would be hell to pay later though, when the bill had to be split between the couples. 

Surprisingly, even if they were college students, they could actually afford nights out like these. 

Tooru had his modeling and swimming going on, and including all of his sponsorships by multiple products, he has everything from a car to enough cash to completely pay for his college loans, fees, rent, and basically everything else. He’s also secretly paying off some of Hajime’s school loans like the great boyfriend he is, something Hajime must never know about. 

Kenma, somehow, has made a video game that he made hundreds of thousands off of. 

Keiji was not a model (although he fully could be because let's be honest here he is beautiful- beautiful but camera-shy), but he was an olympic swimmer that had even more sponsorships than everyone in the room, due to both his younger age and amazing swimming. Koutarou too. 

Ushiwaka however, belonged to a richer family and therefore didn’t really need any of that to be rich af.

Shouyou, Tobio, Akira, and Yuutarou are all broke college students that are dragged into these nights with their (questionable)friends, and they, along with Issei and Takahiro, usually got to worm their way out of paying. 

The mic was finally given to Tooru who also chose a bubbly American pop song, this time thankfully sung by a man and not a ten year old girl. He (tried to) sing beautifully, batting his eyelashes at Hajime and raising his eyebrows suggestively, but was pushed away. Fortunately. 

“I’m in lahve wit dah hape ahf hou!” 

Keiji, who had somehow managed to sleep through Tetsurou’s performance, was now stirring and clearly still drunk, either something very dangerous or something extremely good for the rest of the people in the room. Drunk Keiji was someone more relaxed than sober Keiji, and drunk Keiji was least likely to have them stop drinking. Keiji also had a very low alcohol tolerance which couldn’t be built up no matter how much he enjoyed drinking his problems away. He was also technically underage… oh well. 

 

 

 

After all that wanted to sing had sung and a few more shots were tipped back, the party all went their separate ways back home. 

 

 

 

Everyone of age and Keiji all woke up regretting all life choices.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone caught the KnB and Free! references, congrats.  
> You get absolutely nothing. 
> 
> If you're reading this, that means... you actually read this... thing. 
> 
> Wow. I'm so sorry.
> 
> Here's what happens after the questionable ending:  
> -Tooru becomes a coach and teaches swimmers with talent  
> -His world record is beaten by a Kageyama (Tobio and Shouyou's adopted son)  
> -Iwa-chan is who Tooru recomends all of his injured swimmers to  
> -they live a long happy life (with a lot of money bc Oiks is still modeling)  
> -at age 68, Oiks succumbs to cancer  
> -Iwa-chan dies a year later, in a car crash (accidental?)
> 
> Kudos and comment if you enjoyed~


End file.
